Truth is sometimes stranger than fiction. Last weekend Velzy had his annual
Easter barbacoa here in San Clemente. The only person I remember was Gordie,
the rest I don't remember, but they were all tanked. The week before they
had the Annual San Onofre Cookoff with every knumbnut on the beach, so I feel
your pain with all those party people. The emergency room thing was used
figuratively not literately. Mysto should revamp his name to Stoic George.
He had a memorial for his wife at the house beside Farold Head's up Malibu
Canyon Peter Proportions was there along with Don Wilson and his phart bag,
so I feel your pain.

I'm pleased that I'm Kemp's hero; better I than Eddie Sullivan. That stunt
you pulled while dancing with that woman was hilarious. Maybe you should live
close to the ER. Did you ever figure why they have those warnings on prescription
bottles for mixing the contents with alcohol? I'm sorry about the price for
the dinner, he told me it was free food. I received that great photo and
the check will be in the mail

Dear wallflower, Ya, Life's pretty funny. No big deal about the dinner
money. It was worth it and since I was an uninvited guest I figured I'd
help defer the cost since Frayne was paying for his own party. I learned
my lesson several years ago about drugs and alcohol. The ride to the ER cost
$600. The ride home in a cab cost $35. Next time I'll call a cab if I need
to go to the hospital. Yes stoic is certainly Georges' name. He was the first
to recognize me at the party. I saw Ray Kunze first. Deetzie and Hurst didn't
show. Harry Stonelake and Art Neuman were there. The rest were simply unknown.
In a way I wish I hadn't gone . Kemp was the funniest (good sense of humor).
Steve from Hawaii says M.Dora
may come back to challenge J.Fain to tennis. Lord help us all. Tom the well-wisher

So why - I ask - do you get to go to all the best parties? But at least
I get to hear about them thanks to you. How's your head? Speaking of great
parties, I'll never forget the big one in South Bay in the winter of 1960.
Guess they'd call it a riot now. But it was just a typical 'rent breaking'
party back then. Some huge Hawaiians were slamming each other over the head
with frying pans when I went out to my car to get another pack of cigs and
passed out head first across the front seat. Woke up a few hours later and
found the party had shifted into a new gear. The Hawaiians were now slamming
everyone over the head with frying pans. Just as someone broke a table in
half and started punching out a wall, my pal Kenny McWilliam said, "I think
this might get nasty." So I went out for another pack and passed out till
morning. When I woke up it looked like a tornado had hit the place. Broken
bottles, glasses, paper plates, underwear, shirts, pants, shoes, beer cans
etc up and down the street. Turns out the police had put a cordon around a
two block radius of the party and picked up people when they left. I heard
they gave up any attempt of closing the party down when Wayne Miyata tore
off his shirt... raked his fingernails across his chest ... licked the blood
off his fingers ... went into one of his wild-eyed Ninja stances started screaming
at them in Japanese. We'll never know. I could handle hangovers back then
and never went anywhere without a 'family size' bottle of Bayer. Bob

Take a look at: http://www.atomicbride.com/tomad.html
Remember that goofy day at the airport? I don't remember where we were
but I remember we got to keep the shirts. Never did like the shirt. I've
been in Santa Barbara - Carpinteria for the past 22 years. Body surf now
and then. Hope you're well. Sounds like you're still catching a few fairly
regularly. Have fun,Tom McBride

Aloha Tom! What a neat surprise to receive your email note this morning.
I certainly do remember that photo session at the airport. It really takes
me back to some fabulous times we all had back then.

As I related to Hugh, I was buying time on the net and came across you
site by accident yesterday. You have created a unique historical reference
site for all those that were there at the 'Bu first hand and those that
weren't there, too. The Hermosa Beach "party" file was hysterical, especially
the Wayne Miyata part. Even the best script writers would never be able to
capture some of those real life adventures we somehow lived through!

I remember my run-in with Ed Sullivan in the summer of '61.

He intentionally ran me off a wave at the 'Bu and nearly fractured my
left knee with his board. I told him I would be back after my leg healed
to settle the score with him. That night Chubby came home and was incensed
over the incident. Later in the evening he told my story to a Samoan named
Reed who was living in the South Bay who had just been paroled from Levenworth.
He was about 6' 2" and 290 lbs. with 21" biceps from pumping iron in the
joint. Reed picked me up the next morning at 7:00 AM. He had a friend at
least 6' 5" and about the same weight with him. I invited Kenny Tilton to
come with us and we rode up to Malibu on the PCH from Hermosa without a word
being said. When we got there Reed told me to find this guy and settle it.
Then he said he would embarrass him in front of his friends before taking
him with us to Malibu Canyon. Being only 17, I naively asked why. When he
told me his reason, I went into total shock and couldn't hold back the tears.
I figured I would spend the rest of my life behind bars for sure. Well, fortunately
Sullivan wasn't there. But, before we left Reed had me walk down to the pit
with him where he grabbed the biggest guy there by the throat, lifted him
off the ground, and told him to tell Ed Sullivan we're looking for him. People
started scattering everywhere. Henry Ford who was on duty in the lifeguard
tower immediately called the Malibu Sherrif Station for help. We drove off
just as two squad cars pulled up. I'll never forget this experience. Kenny
has never forgiven me for inviting him to go along for the ride. Word got
back to Ed, too. I never had another problem with Sullivan after that deal.

I still surf Rincon on occasion. Maybe we could get together when I come
by Carpinteria. I'll drop you an email before hand. So nice to hear from you,
Tom. Stay well. Aloha Nui Loa, Paul
Strauch Jr.

Paul, What a great story about Sullivan. I had a run-in with Eddie one
day at the Bu too. He and I were the only one's out (one of those days).
It was 2-3 ft. nice swell and casual. A nice open door wave appeared and
I took off in front of Eddie. I thought we were there to have fun. Eddie
came up from behind me and pushed me hard in the back. I didn't lose the
wave and pulled a giant cutback, dropping down across his board. Because
of my advantage being above him as I crossed I punched him as hard as I could
in the chest. We both went flying and I was pissed and came up as soon as
I could. He popped up a minute later looked around, smiled at me and said,
"nice punch man". I didn't say anything but when I got out of the water,
guys sitting on the beach said, "way to go, Tom". I never had any more trouble
from him. HaTMcB

Tom - Good Lord. I've just dropped in on your 'Surf Parties' page and
had a good laugh. It's truly amazing to come upon a name from the past and
suddenly remember that person in the context of a particular event.

Take Eddie Sullivan, for example. Eddie was a year or so younger than
me, but his age never seemed to make as much of an impression as his uncompromising
'beserker' personality. Some people acted insane, but I don't think Eddy
was acting.

One day at Malibu, when I was sitting in the 'Pit', with the faint aroma
of drying dog shit and melting wax wafting in the breeze, I witnessed one
of the sickest displays of Sullivan depravity I'd yet seen (and that's saying
something).

A skinny young kid on crutches had slowly made his way down from the entrance
and was sitting with his mother and another child near a flat rock not far
away.

They were just tourists, enjoying a few moments at the beach, and the
kid with the crutches was playing with a small plastic toy on the rock -
pertending that it was walking & jumping around.

Then, before anyone had a chance to react, Eddie swaggered over to the
little group, snatched up one of the crutches and asked the startled kid,
"Like that fucking little toy do ya kid?" That was enough to make the boy
huddle up to his frightened mother as Eddie swung the crutch down to smash
the toy into little pieces. "Good ... then you'll miss it even more!"

The mother went ballistic and started screaming, "Somone call the police
... call the police!" Then Eddie looked at her contemptuously and said,
"Ah fuck. No one has a sense of humor anymore," and left.

That was the last I saw of Eddie Sullivan and I understand that he was
incarcerated for one thing or another shortly after that. I wonder if he
ever became a productive human being? Anyone know? Robert R. Feigel <rrf@xtra.co.nz

In the "Raft" (Hwy 101 at Topanga) one late afternoon I looked out the
door to see Eddie Sullivan in a long black trenchcoat (pre Littleton, Colorado
by 30 years). He stood stock still looking up the Hwy. As I watched, he
keeled over backwards stiff as a board. In a way it was funny, but I was
concerned and went out to find him laying on his back, expressionless and
passed out. I left him there rather hoping a car would pull in and squash
hm like a bug. He survived but I have no knowledge of what eventually happened
to him.

There was another guy named Tommy Flannigan who was as mean and vicious
as Sullivan and I kept as far away as possible from both these nuts. I saw
Flannigan walk defiantly drunk and stoned across heavy Sunday traffic on Channel
Rd. in Santa Monica Canyon at the Coast Hwy. Without looking either way,
he stepped off the curb and just started walking. I think he had a death wish
to put his angry mind to rest.

At a High School reunion a few years ago, I walk up to the bar for a drink
and standing next to me is this huge guy named Owen Miller. He's looking ultra
pumped and I say, "looks like you're keeping in shape", glancing at his beefy
biceps. "Ya, there's not much else to do in Leavenworth." He was and still
looks like a terribly threatening gangster, yet here he was at his High School
Reunion. Go figure. Tom

Funny how things work, but my old long lost pal Paul Strauch Jr. was surfing the net
and just contacted me, and we are getting together next week for some reminiscing
(He wants some tips on nose riding. Haaa!) and we will definitely talk about
Ernie(Tanaka). I still play beach volleyball every Saturday with Ron Kanemura
"Haga" who came to Calif. with Ernie, Chubby Mitchell, and Kia. They all
worked at the old 'Sip 'n Surf' in Santa Monica Canyon and were instrumental
in bringing Baby Allen Gomes and Paul to Calif. My son knows Tommy Tanaka
very well but has lost contact with him. Did he leave an Email with you?
He is always cruising between Hawaii and the Mainland. Please advise if you
have a contact location for him and thanx again for the mail. Hugo Foster

Browsin the stories. They continue to be priceless. Glad I didn't hear
about Frayne's (Rapido) 65th, otherwise I would have had to show. Talked
to Paul S. and we will hook up next week at Beer O clock. Hysterical 20 minute
phone call about the last ten years and where they went. I was at the Bu when
Leon Reed came down looking for Sullivan. He was so wide he had to turn sideways
to get through the chain link gate that was there at that time. I remember
everyone thinking to themselves...Geez we better not run over Strauch. Leon
Reed was a cousin to the famous Ane Clan in Honolulu. Gilbert and a slew
of cousins were, and still are, the backbone for Union Security, UH football,
and other matters requiring crowd control. Nice people to know if someone
rips off your board at "Threes" like my son's in 1985. It was returned that
evening thanx to da Boyz. Hugo Foster

I remember Chubby Mitchell, Reed, Blu and Bla James. I think it was Reed
who was the bouncer at a coffee house at Queens in Waikiki. He carried a gun
in his PanAm handbag. Yikes. And one night sitting at the Merry-go-round
bar I watched as Bla James held off the Honolulu Police Department in the
middle of the street with a stick while bus loads of tourists passed by
viewing the whole scene in awe.

This was probably the best surfing party I ever attended in Seal Beach.
It was held in the upstairs half of a duplex facing the beach on 10th street
about March, 1965. Back then we didn't have wetsuits, so the warm water
near the Seal Beach Power Plant drew many of the biggest name surfers to
the area all winter long. Chuck Dent really set the party up. I'm not sure
if he lived there, or was just around there every day. About Tuesday that
week he started inviting a small group of surfing friends. I was living next
door with a couple of roommates so we knew about it that day. The word got
around and by Saturday morning everyone in the water was talking about it.

By 7 pm, about 30 surfers and friends had already arrived. It wasn't too
crowded and Chuck and some friends had mixed up some punch in a washtub and
put on some Hawaiian music to get things going. One of the girls there got
a little carried away from the punch not long after and started hula dancing,
finally taking her top off and dancing on the coffee table, which promptly
broke. She hurt her leg and foot, but sort of kept on dancing on one leg,
much to the delight of all the partiers. She kept stumbling all over the place
until she finally stopped and sat on some real big quiet athletic type who
was sitting in the corner. This guy got upset and said some things to her.
She got Chuck to try to throw the guy out. Chuck wasn't exactly small, but
this guy dwarfed him and nearly everyone else at the party. After some tense
moments they came to an agreement and everyone sat down again. The girl really
seemed upset that the party went on with this big guy still there in his
corner, so she wouldn't dance anymore.

By then things were getting wild both inside and spilling onto the beach
outside. About 100 people were milling around and the party kept getting
wilder. Some of the Hermosa surfing crew had showed up by then, plus a good
contingent of Huntington Beach and inland surfers.

There were quite a few college kids from Cal-State Long Beach who had
no idea what surfing was. They were really getting into the surfing culture,
especially the guy who was giving surfing lessons on an old beat up longboard
on the beach in front of the place. He would lay down then stand up and
act like he was weaving along the face of a wave. He was doing this in time
to the music coming from the speakers on the upstairs balcony of course.

There weren't any drugs visible and no one was breaking any laws that
I could see, just a big party with everyone having a good time.

About 9:00 a dozen or so police showed up and made a quick rush from the
alley to the front and up the stairs, turning the party into immediate bedlam.
People were jumping out of windows, climbing over the back fence, and running
out on the beach. I happened to be next door at my place with a couple of
friends when they arrived, and suddenly I had 20 people over the fence and
inside my place as well. More police were suddenly everywhere. They came to
my door and told me that if everyone didn't leave, we were going to be arrested
for disturbing the peace.

When I looked outside the next morning there were still people sleeping
on the beach and quite a mess to clean up. The surf was breaking but only
a few surfers made it out that day. I'm not sure if anyone got arrested,
but I didn't see Chuck around much after that and I didn't hear of another
party in the area until at least June when I moved.

This may have Huntington's greatest local party, certainly it stands alone
among the greatest surf oriented parties of its day. There are many people
still around who attended the party (some who will see this) and each probably
has their own view of what happened. I've included both the views from my
perspective and also what my father-in-law, Jim Way, told me years later about
the city's perspective of what happened.

A little background on Huntington Beach in the late summer will help set
the stage. By that time of year the weather is hot and the beach is very popular.
Probably several hundred thousand people daily are relaxing around in the
sand along the city beach or the state beaches, and many of the out-of-the
area kids are looking for something to do. Back then it was a big deal if
you lived inland and someone who lived at the beach invited you to a party,
particularly if they happened to be part of the local surfing crowd. Unfortunately
for me, that's about what happened.

It was in the late summer of 1970. I had been holding smaller Huntington
Beach Surfing Association oriented parties at my parent's home on Caroline
Street a couple times each month since spring. Our house wasn't that big,
but it had a pool table in the garage and a covered area 12' x 24' over
the driveway along the left side of the house. We had walled off the covered
area with plywood and painted glow-in-the-dark wave and space oriented designs
along the walls. My brother put in a black light and a strobe so anyone who
sat in there for a short time was dizzy before long. We also had a nice stereo
set-up, plus we lived next to a field so only had neighbors on two sides to
worry about.

Usually only about 20-30 club members would show up at the parties. My
dad loves playing pool, so he would open the garage and basically hold a pool
shootout for anyone interested while the other partygoers headed towards the
back.

HBSA had a well-attended meeting on Tuesday night and I told the crew
that I was having an end of summer club party at my place on Saturday. I
let my parents and the neighbors know, and then got ready to enjoy.

Well, Saturday morning at the Pier everyone was saying they were going
to be there, so I headed home around noon to clean the place and get ready.
Early afternoon came around and suddenly I started getting calls from as
far away as Oceanside, north to Santa Monica, and inland to Pasadena about
directions. At first I thought some of the callers were kidding, but before
long I got the message and started to worry. I began telling callers the
party was just a local event and not to show up.

It didn't work. Not only was the word getting around the beach, but it
made it to the law as well. My father-in-law, HB Beach Director Jim Way, told
me a few years later that local and state police had been alerted by 6 p.m.
that evening about the party, and they were already planning for their response.

About 7:00 p.m. the party goers started to show. First it was just the
local surfing crew, Chuck Ray, Greg Duzich and company, David Van Druff
and a few more. Then others started to arrive, many who lived inland and
I didn't know at all. They started filling up all the parking spots along
the road, then started to drive around my housing track through the field
to park, and finally started parking along Garfield Ave. about a mile away.
By 8:30 p.m. there were literally hundreds of kids, with no place left to
park, and some kids started parking in the middle of the street slowly filling
the street back towards Garfield.

About that time I was sitting in my Wave Trek Surfboard Van in my parents
driveway with girlfriend Ann MacDonnald listening to music and just enjoying
the party goers passing by to visit. My dad was busy with a huge pool tourney,
my mom was somewhere in the back, and my brother was in the back with a
wild strobe light show. Suddenly, the police helicopter swooped overhead,
put its spotlight on my front yard, and announced over the speaker that a
riot had been declared and the party goers were to disperse immediately.
At the same time, up the open path in the street marched about 30 officers
in riot gear shoulder to shoulder.

My friends were running all over the place, through the fields and who
knows where else. I opened my Van door and was greeted by a flashlight in
the face and two non-uniformed cops telling me I was going to be arrested
and to help them clear the place immediately. I was also told not to make
any quick moves or start a full-fledged riot against their authority. I
stood there dumfounded while it took another minute of two for the rest of
the riot squad to reach me. About that time Charley gave me a reality check
by telling me that the club would stand by whatever I wanted to do. All I
could say to the police was that I didn't know everyone there and why was
it my fault so many people decided to show up?

Some of my neighbors who were at the party, plus my dad, stepped in and
basically told them that if I helped clear everyone out, they better let me
and my buddies off. After looking around at several hundred edgy kids surrounding
them, many good size local surfers, plus knowing that there were still many
more kids in the immediate area, the Officer in charge agreed. He said "Clear
them out and that's that, just work with us."

Fortunately the surf club was a good group and they all helped me clear
the area. It didn't happen immediately, but within about 30 minutes the
area was clear. I had to stay on the driveway until well into the night turning
late arrivals away as they continued to drive in from all over. The police
let me off with a warning, but made sure I understood that I could never have
another party there again.

My father-in-law told me that the party caused a third stage riot alert
to be sent as far away as San Clemente. Also, after that day, parties in
Huntington were always broken up early before they got very large. The city
passed an ordinance against excessive party noise as well soon afterwards.
Bruce "Snake" Gabrielson